


Perfectly Imperfect

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Favs as animals, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Pet au, Pet!Clint, Pet!Tony, Pet!brock, if that makes sense, mentions of castration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 21:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21204035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: the weird pet!au no one asked forSteve decides to combat his loneliness with Tony, a pedigree pet. After a chance encounter with Bucky and his pet, Clint, the two find themselves falling in love. Now if only they could get Clint and Tony to get along.





	Perfectly Imperfect

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I have no excuses when it comes to this fic. Think of pets as people with ears and tails and limited intelligence (sorta).

Steve bought Tony first. Obediah was a reputable breeder and he did careful research before contacting him. The decision to get a pet couldn’t be rash because that was why the shelters were over-flowing in the cities.

Sam made his opinion well known when Steve said he was looking at private breeders. “Great, I’ll be sure they put down another rescue,” he commented in a tone of disgust.

Steve felt somewhere between defensive and embarrassed and guilty. “They need homes too,” he said feebly. “I just… I just don’t know if I have the kind of personality a rescue needs.”

Sam remained pissed at him for all of two weeks and then sent him a list of breeders he knew provided healthy pets. It didn’t quite absolve him of the guilt associated with no getting a shelter pet but it was a start. He was stuck between Stane with a regal looking pedigree and a woman in Manhattan who had the cutest purebred pets with cherub faces and a big fluffy tails. 

“You don’t seem like the cute cuddly type,” Sam said when asked. “Get more pictures.”

So Steve did. He felt silly asking for so much from these people he’d communicated with through email alone but they seemed eager — no doubt due to the price tags attached. Money wasn’t the concern for Steve, it was loneliness. Miss Wells sent him several photographs of the two he was interested in. There was one where they were dressed up to the dimes, most likely posing for some sort of holiday card and in another they were tousling in the grass. 

Mr. Stane sent several photographs of the otherwise stoic pet, curled up on a plush looking bed looking sleepy with one brown and gray ear flopped over to cover his eye, another where those ears stood alert and there was a bright red ball in his mouth and he was keenly focused on something outside the shot, one where he was curled up beside the pet that Steve recognized as Mr. Stane’s fast asleep. He also sent a video where a trainer that seemed immediately identified as the one and only James Rhodes, who was a bit of a celebrity in the field, was giving commands, both simple and complex in four different languages.

“Man, he’s clever,” Sam commented as he bent over Steve’s shoulder. “What did Obediah say his energy level was?”

“Controlled. Modest,” Steve had notes. It was the best way to make his choice. An informed choice with all variables in front of him. “So far Tony is the only one that checks all the training boxes. It’ll just be behavioral maintenance.”

“The others are younger,” Sam pointed out. “Why did he hang onto ‘Tony’ so long? Also, ugh, what a dull name.”

“I like it,” Steve cut in. “Simple isn’t bad Sam.”

“Whatever you say, Steve.” He shot back. “How’s the book coming?”

Steve shrugged. He may or may not have been procrastinating heavily with this. “I have the prints. Just need to…”

“Do your job?” Sam filled in.

“It’ll be done on time,” Steve clicked back to the two pets available in Manhattan wearing Santa hats between dusky colored fluffy ears. “You’re worse than the editors.”

“Shedding,” Sam said as if it was the answer to a question.

“Sorry?”

“Shedding! These fluffy ones shed everywhere. The pedigree has glossy fur, probably less shedding.” 

Steve blinked and then picked up his pen and put another tally under Obediah’s name. Sam scrutinized his list. “You realize Stane has eight checks and Wells only has three right?”

“Don’t rush me!”

“Fine, fine.” Sam rolled his eyes. “God, you’re so uptight sometimes Rogers.”

Steve had to agree. He hummed and hawed for another week before he contacted Mr. Stane and said he would like to purchase Tony. They made an appointment to meet at location. While he didn’t doubt it would be good living conditions, he needed to be sure.

The house was massive with plenty of space. Steve sighed in relief as he went to the large double doors. There were marble pillars which seemed a bit excessive. The door was opened by Mr. Stane who looked exactly as he did in the photographs on his website. 

“Welcome to my home, Mr. Rogers.”

“Ah, Steve please.” The handshake was firm but not aggressive. 

“Well in that case, please call me Obie. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

He went to toe off his loafers but Obie waved him off. “Tony will be in the backyard with Pepper, I’m sure.”

Obie’s pet, Steve recalled. “Will he struggle with the separation?”

“Perhaps,” Obie admitted. “But pets move on. They don’t tend to dwell on much unless it’s right in front of them.”

Steve nodded. Seeing the pet in person was different than a photograph. He was less poised as he raced after a slightly smaller female. Obie whistled and both stopped immediately and approached them curiously. “This,” Obie said running his hands through the pet’s hair. “Is Tony.”

He had bright, curious brown eyes a bit too big for his face. His nose was small and twitched curiously as he waited for some sort of command. “Down,” Obie said and Tony knelt on the grass. The clothes looked expensive but the breeder didn’t seem too concerned about them. “Speak.”

“Hello,” even, slow and clear.

Steve smiled and reached to stroke his head before pausing and looking for Obie for permission. “Of course,” he took a step back. “Go ahead. I care deeply that those who pick one of my pets are completely satisfied.”

“He seems very well trained.” Steve commented. 

Tony’s ears were soft and twitched a bit under his tentatively strokes. The pet looked at him with the same unwavering look of fascination, curiosity and a hint of wariness. Steve was still a stranger and he realized, belatedly, he should have given the pet a chance to smell his hand before he touched. All the forums said it was the vital step. He pulled back, maybe too fast because Tony’s ears pinned and he looked anxiously at Obie as if worried he’d somehow caused the reaction.

“I should’ve let him smell me first,” Steve was so painfully a first-timer at this that he expected Obie to refuse to sell him a pedigree. 

“Anthony is too well taught to nip,” Obediah replied pleasantly. “He is crate, muzzle and lead broken and is always on his utmost behavior no matter the surroundings. He’s fine around other pets, strangers and children. He’s mild mannered and is a great first time pet.”

Steve’s relief in that was maybe a little obvious. “I grew up with one,” he explained quickly. “Peggy she, uh, she was a good girl. She was my mother’s and passed a while ago.”

“It’s amazing how much such simple creatures can mean to us, isn’t it?” Obie patted Tony’s cheek. “I admit that I considered keeping this one, he’s clever.”

“Can I ask why you didn’t?”

“Initially I thought he would be an impressive stud — his father was. Pepper is a brood and a damn fine one at that,” Steve glanced at the female who had wandered toward the hedges and was lounging in the sun. “But he wouldn’t mount her no matter what we did.”

Tony’s ears had risen from his hair and he was back to sitting with that regal charm that drew Steve in. 

“I couldn’t quite justify keeping him around.” He smiled sadly, “The only issue I’ve ever had with Anthony was immediately after he was fixed. He had this funny little thing where he would try to mount males around him — never overtly aggressively of course. He wouldn’t harm any of them. The vet said it was compensation move. To prove his masculinity.”

“When you say fixed — ”

“It was a full surgical castration,” Obie elaborated. “No complications, over and done with in twenty minutes.”

“Oh.” Steve blinked in surprise. “I-I didn’t realize…”

“Neutering would have been a simple procedure without any cosmetic changes but Tony is a pedigree. You’re an artist, yes?” Steve nodded dumbly wondering what that had to do with anything. “Say you sell someone an original piece that you cannot replicate. You’d be sure to sign it yes? So no one can claim it as their own?”

Steve doesn’t think those two things are similar. “It’s a fail safe from when I wasn’t sure who he’d be sent home with. Nothing personal in the least.” Obie had an easy attitude about it. “Were the testes important?”

“No!” Steve said quickly. “I mean… I guess I forget that they don’t use them like we do.”

“It’s actually aesthetically pleasing,” Obie added, “Hardly a scar left over unless you’re really looking.”

Steve absorbed this information. It seemed cruel to take pieces of a pet away simply because Stane didn’t want to risk breeding. He was aware that all the breeders had their own ‘breeding clauses’ in all sales. 

A necessary evil. 

“Where I live has strict pet regulations,” Steve said. “Is he accustomed to wearing a muzzle around other pets?”

“Yes.” Obie seemed confident in this. “I assure you, Tony follows directions to a point. If at any point you feel he’s not surpassing expectations I will give you a full refund. That is how certain I am in the pets I sell.”

Steve nodded, ultimately soothed by Obie’s certainty in Tony. “I’ll take him.” 

•• •• •• ••

Tony laid down quietly in the grated truck space. 

Steve half expected some whimpering or otherwise signs of distress but save for his flattened ears, he was calm and unbothered. The only time he had cried at all was when Obie unclasped the red leather collar. The breeder had said, “quiet” in a tone lacking any menace or anger and the pet had done so. 

Steve felt oddly giddy about the situation. He wanted to see the pet poke around the brownstone. Tony heeled immediately when Steve gave him the ‘out’ order. He glanced around the garage, ears twitching and tail making slow unsure sweeps. He followed Steve inside and remained on heel until Steve fastened his new collar around his throat.

“You can explore,” he granted and the pet immediately went to the food and water bowls and crate. 

He stooped down, drinking for a moment. Steve had selected a moving water fountain with a built in filter. It kept the water cool and moving which all the forums said was important. Pets may have been more resistant to sickness but bacteria grew in still water and Steve wanted Tony healthy and happy. He glanced at the dry food bits, nose twitching, and then went into the crate.

Steve stood there stupidly a moment but told himself it was an adjustment period. He went to his office and tried to get some of his work done. He sketched some outlines and eyed the canvas sitting in the corner of the studio. He’d never felt as uninspired as he had the last few months. He thought illustrating picture books would help open the dam a bit. 

He had accomplished little beyond glaring at the canvas he couldn’t picture anything else on. So he morosely worked on Bobbie the Bear’s endless installments. Really, the books were shitty: co-written by a board of directors for a company who didn’t really care about the people they were writing for. It tackled all the basics of growing up.

Bobbie the Bear: Learns to Share! was the current headache Steve had inflicted on himself. His editor wouldn’t let him off the hook; he’d signed a contract and frankly, the money was great. But there was only so much money a single guy in Brooklyn could want. He sighed heavily and tilted his head back. 

Steve nearly leaped from his skin when he saw a flash of brown in the corner of his eye. He turned sharply, heart leaping bounds in panic before he realized he wasn’t alone. Tony blinked at his reaction, sitting back in a crouch as he waited, staring, for… Permission? Attention? 

Anxiety replaced unease as he realized he wasn’t so sure what Tony wanted. He had food, he had water. He picked up his phone and inputted a quick google search: why is my pet staring at me?

Food, check. Pain? Steve wasn’t sure. Maybe he had hurt himself in the car. “Are you okay?” 

Pets could speak, if taught early enough. Some could even parrot back words which was a curse and a blessing from the experiences Steve had read about. Tony tilted his head. “Hungry?”

The head went the other way. “Play?”

Tony blinked and Steve’s heart soared at the reaction. “There are toys,” he explained in a rush almost forgetting that he probably understood very little. “C’mere,”

He went to the den beside the plush bed he’d bought because he’d been raised with a firm understanding that pets don’t go on furniture. Tony followed along obediently, trailing behind too far to be considered on heel. Good, he wanted him to be a bit come comfortable. 

He tipped the crate over and the contents spilled out onto the finished hardwood floors. Tony’s ears pricked and he hurried over, righting the crate and putting each item meticulously back. He looked up at Steve and his nose twitched. “So you don’t want to play?” Steve asked lamely. 

Tony cocked his head again and Steve blew out a breath. Peggy had gotten older and this disconnect had really gotten to him after his mother’s passing. Not that Peggy had understood Steve any better than Tony probably did… “Do you want a treat?”

It was the last line of defense in pleasing a pet. Steve was fairly certain that word was genetically encoded in all of them. Sure enough Tony’s ears pricked up and he rose from where he was kneeling. His eyes moved around the room, clearly looking for the supposed treats. Steve went to the kitchen and Tony trailed along without orders. 

Steve smiled a bit to himself at the way his nose twitched. The jar of treats were high quality, like the dry food. Dried bits of pet-quality bacon and beef. Tony’s tail wagged eagerly as Steve held out the snack. Bayful eyes flickered between it and Steve’s face. It almost a relief as the whimper rose up in his chest, pleading. 

“Gentle,” Steve said because Peggy was overeager with treats and his mother, a nurse, had always fussed and crated her whenever she accidentally bit him. 

The pet lipped it from his fingertips and it was gone in an instant. Peggy used to do that too — just gulping down treats without the sense to chew. All the care forums said that giving too many treats was bad but Steve figured the first day warranted some exceptions. He held out another and this time cautioned, “slow” which got the response he was seeking.

Tony chewed this one and Steve capped the jar. After Tony had swallowed he knelt and stared up at Steve. It wasn’t begging, it was that same state from before. 

Great, they were back to square one.

•• •• •• ••

The first night was tough. Tony whimpered and cried in his kennel and Steve could hear him pacing through the walls. It was probably the separation from Pepper, though he wasn’t sure what a castrated stud would do with a brood but maybe it was the socialization.

Every time he started to drift off he’d hear the quiet high pitched noise that roused him slowly until it was far too loud in otherwise silent house. He was tired and growing irritated. But, first night hiccups were to be expected. The next morning Steve cracked his eyes open feeling rundown instead of properly rested. Tony had finally cried himself to sleep around three am and the four hours of reprieve were about all the sleep Steve got.

He considered taking advantage and sleeping in. After all, he didn’t have to go anywhere today. Instead, he got up, opened his bedroom door and stepped on Tony’s tail. He howled like he’d been shot and Steve found himself frantically apologizing to a pet who scampered back to his crate, tail curled around his hip. 

Steve rubbed the sleep from his eyes, exhaustion and guilt resting heavily on his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he said again as he passed by the crate. 

He wasn’t so sure Tony knew what ‘sorry’ was but it absolved the guilt a bit. Besides, why was he sleeping on the floor in front of his door when he had a perfectly good crate and a bed? He looked through the news and then cast another look at the crate before searching: does my pet miss it’s litter mates?

Apparently they did. 

Steve figured taking him to the park to socialize would help. So he made breakfast, frowned at the full food bowl and got out the muzzle. Tony, who had kept his distance a bit more since the not-so-great start to the day immediately stood to be muzzled. 

“I’m sorry,” he said again, giving him a pat. “We’ll go for a walk, right?”

Tony swept his tail and Steve felt he’d made a good choice. Of course this feeling lasted all of ten minutes once they arrived. During the walk he was perfect, the lead was always slack and Tony kept pace and on heel. Steve felt a bit proud of his behavior although he knew it was someone else’s work that had done it. 

At the park he let him off the lead and sat at an empty bench. Tony wandered toward the fountain and Steve pulled his tablet and drawing pen from his bag. He did some hard outlines, finding the fresh air did help things flow a bit easier than his studio. “Hey!”

Steve glanced up and then jumped to his feet. Tony was halfway on top of another male, rutting against him shamelessly. The pet’s owner was looking at him in exasperation — a man with one arm and shoulder length chestnut hair. 

“I’m sorry, he’s new.” Steve rushed over snapping, “Tony, no!”

He didn’t expect him to listen or even to react as quickly as he did but he was on heel in a second looking deeply ashamed. The other male, once free, leapt to his feet and snarled through a neon green mesh nylon muzzle that clashed terribly with the purple collar around his throat. 

“Clint!” the one armed man crowed. He hooked two fingers into the collar and yanked the pet back. “Jesus I’m sorry man!”

Tony had mounted him in a dominance display — why on earth would he be apologizing to him? “This was my fault.” Steve had overestimated Tony. Or maybe Stane oversold him. 

“Clint started up his growling because yours got just a little too close and…” the man shook his head. “He’s from a shelter and I didn’t even want him. He’s untrained and half deaf and stupid and I was supposed to be watching him for a friend short term and now Coulson won’t take him back to the shelter cos there’s no space and you don’t even care about this and I’m giving you all this random information. Let’s try again — I’m Bucky and this moron is Clint who is harmless, I promise. All bark, no bite.”

Steve took a second to absorb that before held out his hand. “Steve. This is Tony.” 

Bucky let go of Clint to shake his hand and the pet uttered another truly ferocious snarl and edged back a step. When they’d both withdrawn their hands Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I really am sorry,” he said again pulling a leash from his back pocket. “Let’s go, you goddamn menace.”

Clint was small, like Tony, eyes glacier blue and untrusting. His ears were cropped and one was badly torn. His hair was cut short but fluffed up in uneven tufts from the disagreement between them. Steve felt guilty. 

“Can I at least buy you a cup of coffee or something?” His pet had done something very distasteful and he wasn’t sure how to rectify it. “Please, it’ll make me feel better.”

Bucky looked like wanted to say no. “You don’t need to do that,” Bucky said. “I’ll buy.”

Steve has thought the refusal would have had to do with the fact they were perfect strangers not who was buying. “Sure,” Steve shrugged. “I’ll get the next one.”

He was an idiot. Bucky rose a brow at him while Steve flushed scarlet. Now Bucky would refuse, he thought, because he’s going to think he was hitting on him. Which, well, wasn’t all bad. He was attractive even with his stubble and maybe homeless/maybe hipster outfit. He stuck out in the burro for sure because it was small neighborhood for the middle-upperclass with boutiques, cafes, teeny restaurants and an air of privilege everywhere. Steve hated it for all the reasons he loved it.

It was posh but also quaint. The people were airy but they cared. It was material but it was passionately material: the boutiques were single designers, the cafes all had amazing coffee. Plus, it was very pet friendly. All that being said there was an unspoken expectation for dress codes and Bucky was not compliant to those expectations with his gray sweater, one arm knotted to avoid flapping and sweatpants. Clint was no better in a tee full of holes and wear and track pants that were too big and knotted to stay up. 

“Deal,” Bucky shattered the silence clipping the leash onto Clint. “Just warning you though, he gets funny around food,”

Steve stopped listening after Bucky said deal.

•• •• •• ••

The cafe Steve selected had outside seating for those with pets because they weren’t allowed inside. 

Tony had been extremely well behaved since the incident at the park but that didn’t mean Steve had forgotten. They placed their order with the waitress who paused and asked if she could pet them. “Adorable,” she breathed, “Can I give them a pat and some whipped cream?”

Steve wasn’t so sure Tony had earned a treat but was worried about coming off too harsh. He wouldn’t be that kind of owner who refused to indulge. Tony was trim, a cup of whipped cream wouldn’t hurt. 

“Sure, that’s very kind of you.”

It was a bit strange to realize this was his first time coming here despite living in the neighborhood for almost two years now. With painting and his pathetic love life and the passing of Peggy he had been preoccupied. He was grateful for the excuse to wander about more. She reached down and gave Tony a pat.

He preened under the caress, striking what Steve could only deem a show-pose — chest puffed out and tail wrapped around his waist. “And this cutie?” she looked excitedly at the other — Clint. 

Bucky gave her a grin. “Oh, he’s a pain in the ass. Won’t let you touch him and will probably growl.”

“Oh.” She pulled back significantly.

“He’s not mine,” he continued. “He’s a rescue, just keeping an eye on him for a friend.”

The fear and reproach leaned more toward pity now and she looked him over. Clint had tangled his leash around the table legs and was now stuck miserably and had been since their arrival because Bucky was hesitant to untether it or unhook him. 

“He’s a fast little shit,” he had explained when Steve offered to help. “He’s taken off a good five times already this week. He got himself stuck he’ll stay until we leave.”

“Whipped cream, then? Maybe some water?”

“Sure,” Bucky shrugged. “‘sides I’ll be World War Three if that one gets it and he doesn’t.”

“Can I ask the breed?” She was looking toward Steve. 

“Ah, german shepherd,” Steve considered his price tag and added, “Pedigree.”

Bucky might have rolled his eyes but Steve couldn’t be sure. The waitress seemed impressed. “Yours?”

“A mutt,” Bucky replied. 

When she was gone to get their drinks Steve broached the subject of Clint once more — so far it was all they really had in common. “So you’re just watching him?”

“That’s what I was told,” Bucky frowned at the hybrid who was now curled up in a very harmless seeming ball. “For almost three months now.”

Steve almost asked if he considered keeping him but it didn’t seem like Bucky liked him all that much. 

“My friend pushed me to get a rescue but I knew that I couldn’t deal with…” Steve waved at Clint. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with him! He’s cute and all that just…”

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Bucky finished with a nod. “Anyway, we’ve talked about them. What about you?”

It was Steve’s turn to say, “oh” as he suddenly felt far too warm and exposed. “I’m…” an artist seemed like an oversell. “I paint and draw. Illustrate for books.”

“Really?” Bucky seemed genuinely interested and talking about painting came easier than actually doing Steve found.

The conversation flowed from there. He learned that Bucky was bartending at a bar since he came home from his tour and he had a roommate who, in his opinion was a dick (though he looked very fond as he said it) with an asshole pet of his own. 

Steve was in trouble: he was falling for this man far quicker than he should. 

•• •• •• ••

Getting through the door was always a hassle one-armed. 

It was one of those things Bucky had thought he’d adjusted to but toss in a menace like Clint and he was back to square one. The door finally fell open and Clint paused where he was struggling against the lead to get to the bin of recycling. His roommate was home, his car was in the driveway. 

“Thanks for locking the door asshole.”

“I hoped you wouldn’t come back,” Jack called back. “I was enjoying the peace and quiet.”

Bucky kicked the door shut and freed Clint from the lead. The moron took off before he could get the muzzle off and Bucky made a sound of exasperation as he hung up the leash beside the black one. “Hey buddy,” Jack was in the kitchen making lunch.

Brock was on the table, growling lowly. “You wanna get him off the place where we eat?”

“I eat in the living room and you eat in your bed.” Jack corrected him. He unclasped the muzzle and Clint shook his head, ears flopping stupidly a moment before he pawed at the right one. “The vet really doesn’t know how to get him to stop?”

“He’s got some hearing left in it and I guess he just likes the sound.” Bucky shrugged and tried to shoo Jack’s pitbull mix off the table.

Cold dark eyes turn on him and he grumbled before leaping off the table. He used Clint’s deafness to his own benefit and the two tortured each other endlessly. It was just as annoying now as it was in the beginning. Clint didn’t notice the smaller hybrid behind him too busy pawing at his ear and looking up hopefully at Jack for scraps. 

Jack dropped a piece of pepperoni and the two dove for it at once. They were immediately forehead-to-forehead warring for dominance as they snarled. “Ah hell,” Jack muttered. “Brock, cut it out.”

All it took was the breaking of eye contact for a moment for the morsel to vanish and Brock, realizing he’d lost out, to snap his teeth near Clint’s throat. Clint snarled back and then Brock was at his heels, Clint racing from one end of the house howling his fury. 

Jack kept cooking, giving Bucky a side glance. “Your turn,” was all he said which made Bucky cuss and snatch Brock’s collar.

Nearly pulled off his feet by the far too strong pet, he managed to haul him back while Clint scrambled noisily up the steps toward the bedrooms. Brock growled at him, squirming furiously. 

“Brock.” Jack said through a mouthful of sandwich and, like magic, the beast went lax and swept his tail a bit.

Bucky released him, getting a final growl before he followed eagerly behind Jack to the couch, where he crouched between his thighs, attempting to nibble the bottom of the sandwich while crying softly. Jack offered the sandwich which he took a bite out of and Bucky’s face scrunched up in disgust. 

“I don’t think I need to remind you that his favorite place to drink out is the toilet.” Bucky flopped dramatically in the arm chair and Jack shrugged. “You’re both gross.”

Brock was licking Jack’s pants now, an annoying habit he had. When Jack was working Brock would lick the couch and Bucky had enough of accidentally sitting in a cold wet spot full of Brock’s drool. 

“You were gone for a while,” Jack gave Brock a pat which ceased his anxious licking for a moment. “I was hoping you got lost.”

“Ha Ha,” Bucky kicked up his shoes looking around the cramped living room. There were toys all over the floor from Brock — Clint didn’t chew on things he was actually supposed to, preferring wires and shoes and Bucky. “I met a guy.”

Jack paused playfully dangling the crust of his bread in front of Brock’s nose and he took full advantage gulping down it. “Really?”

“Yeah. He’s kinda douchey but in that nice guy way. He’s got a pedigree.” 

Jack snorted and looked on fondly as his junk yard find (literally) started licking the damp spot on his pants he had made. “Overrated. Mutts are better.”

Almost on cue Bucky heard the sound of the nightstand being knocked over for the millionth time. Bucky deflated a bit in the couch. “Pedigrees probably aren’t this annoying,” he finally grouched.

“Was he cute?” Jack offered the last bite to Brock.

“Unreasonably cute.” Bucky sighed, starting up the stairs.


End file.
